Chapter 48

On Saturday morning, with lethargic and heavy limbs, I dress for my father’s funeral.

It’s an old black dress that I haven’t worn since Christmas last year, but Papa used to compliment me on the lace sleeves and band around the waist. I took it out of my closet last night to let it air out, and today I pull it over my head and zip up the side and slip into some black shoes. I try not to think too much, try to shut it all out, but I can’t. I just end up thinking about how hard I’m going to cry, how red my face is going to be when I talk to all those people, all the people who knew him and loved him but not as much as we did.

When I’m done with my dress, I help Millie zip up the back of hers, and let Astrid borrow my beige shoes, and fix Tom’s tie. Then I lean against the bathroom counter and smooth out my mom’s makeup, so it looks less like she did it while she was crying.

“Thanks, Bee,” she whispers, and blows her nose again, only to have to reapply her lipstick. Then I hold her to me, resting my chin on her shoulder, and let myself cry.

Ludwig’s baskets and arrangements look lovely beside the closed casket. I have a perfect view from where I’m sitting in the front row of the church, and they match with the funeral sprays Tracy put together early this morning.

I think we are all crying, every single person in this church. The women who cry for my mother, the big burly men who mourn their coworker, the old college friends who knew him longer than I did. The union of everyone he once knew is terribly beautiful, and I understand, now more than ever, what bittersweet feels like.

Tom gives the eulogy, and that’s the worst part of it. I not only hear about my father from the boy who respected him so much, but I also see the man that boy has become. I cry as silently as I can, but it’s not enough just to put my hand over my mouth. And by the time Tom gets close to the end of his speech, he is also crying, his lip jutting out. I see him quiver, his shoulders twitching with the effort it takes to stay composed.

“My father had nothing to give the world but himself,” he finishes, his voice hoarse and his eyes downcast. But then he briefly raises them to the ceiling above, and we all pretend we didn’t hear the single sob on his lips. “To me, to everyone here…we understood that that was enough. He was enough. Thank you.”

When he joins us again, sitting between me and Astrid, he leans forward with his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. I am crying as hard as he is, as hard as my sisters, but we rest against him, arms twining around his waist, faces pressed to his dress coat. I can’t even look at my mom for fear of the agony I will see.

At the end of the service, my family stays seated, letting our friends pass our row as they make their way up to the casket. They hug and kiss us, giving their condolences, making sure we know we are not alone. (I have never felt so alone in my life.) Eventually, I am too weak to stand, so I return to my seat and watch legs and torsos as they pass me, and the odd hand that reaches down to squeeze mine.

Then—Levi. His legs come into view, long and lean, planted firmly in front of me. I don’t look up because I’m afraid to see his face and his pity and his strength. I don’t want to think about how he listened to me talking with his mom and didn’t come downstairs, that he doesn’t want to be with me, that he’s trying to move on (despite Suzie’s claims, despite my hopes).

But then, he does a very Levi thing: He surprises me. His knees bend, and he squats in front of me and takes my hands and bows his head. His lips brush my fingers, my palms, my wrists. Everywhere.

I am undone.

My mouth opens and a tiny sound comes out—not quite a wail, not quite a whimper. I fold into myself, bending, which means I must lean against him, my face in his neck. He wraps himself around me, arms like twine, a lifeline around my waist. My tears fall harder, and it’s only because of his closeness that I know he’s crying as well, his body tensing and releasing with each quiet sob.

When he lets me go, I hardly remember where I am. The room suddenly seems too bright and the people too loud, and he is gone, up the stairs to where the casket lies. Soon, too soon, I lose track of him in the crowd; if he looks back at me, I don’t know it. Instead, I use the strength he’s given me to stand up again and face the last of the line.

There is darkness, but in that darkness are a million pinpricks of light, and they are all pointing at me.

I’ve escaped the madness of the after party (the celebration, if you want to be positive) where my long-lost grandparents have taken to asking a million questions (as if they cared) and my mom is trying not to cry. Last I saw, Millie and Astrid were lounging sleepily on the couch, so I grabbed Tom’s hand and dragged him onto the roof, where we now sit on a spare blanket. His arm is tucked under my neck, his warm body comforting.

He sighs into the silence. “We don’t do enough stargazing.”

I sigh right back. (I don’t tell him that we’re here is because it reminds me of Levi.) “I agree.”

“I think Dad would have joined us,” he says quietly. “Would’ve pulled out his ladder and climbed up here pretending he wasn’t half a century old.”

“Tom,” I say, “he climbed ladders and stood on roofs for a living.”

My brother softly chuckles. His hand wraps around my arm and squeezes, and I get the loveliest feeling of warmth. After the worst day of my life, it’s kind of nice.

“That’s true,” Tom finally says. “He probably would have gotten up here and pretended he was going to push us off, and then pull us back to safety at the last moment to scare the shit out of us.”

“Remember how he used to do that when we’d go to national parks? We were on top of Glacier Point in Yosemite—remember that trip?—and he grabbed my arm and pushed me closer to the edge.” I’d screamed, even though there was railing and we weren’t that close. Papa had just scoffed at my fear, pretending he was my savior and that I was silly for being afraid.

Tom laughs loudly this time. “He wasn’t the only one who got a kick out of that.”

“Hey, shut up.”

“I hadn’t laughed that hard for, like, a whole year.”

I huff. “You’re a jerk.”

“Whatever. Sometimes I have fun being a jerk.”

I elbow him hard in the ribs, laughing at his loud oof. “Yeah? Well, so do I.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but then his phone rings. I don’t catch the name on the screen before he answers, and even then he only mumbles a few uh-huhs and okays. When he slides his phone back into his pocket, he nudges me. “You should stand up now.”

“Why?”

“Because. You have a person waiting for you on the ground.”

I grumble and start to stand, my dress making a static sound as it’s pulled away from the shingles. I brush off my butt, glancing over the edge, expecting my mom.

My jaw just about drops to my shoes. “GRETCHEN?!”

She’s standing there, her hands on her hips, looking up at me. “In the flesh, you weirdo! Get down here so I can hug you!”

Squealing repeatedly, I climb down the ladder and attack Gretchen, my arms flying around her neck. Now I’m not just squealing—I’m practically screaming. “What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing. HERE?!”

She laughs, her hand tangled in my hair as she squeezes me closer. But I want to look at her, to make sure she’s really here, so I step back and admire her pretty face. She’s got the sweetest smile and shoulder-length brown hair with an auburn tint, and she’s the most familiar, comforting thing I never expected to see today.

I’m all over the place, so I yank her into another hug. “Oh, my GOD.”

Gretchen sighs happily. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it earlier, you know.” Her smile falters. “I’m sorry, period, about everything. But I figured me coming at all would make you happy.”

“This is amazing! How did you surprise me? Were you in it with Tom? Oh my goodness!”

“Actually, no,” she says, and nods her head toward the roundabout in our driveway.

Without even looking, I know. Instantly I understand, and my happiness is drowned by the fact that if I turn, Levi will be right there.

I turn anyway.

He stands at the edge of the street, one foot on the curb, the threads of his navy blue suit catching the light from the house. He raises one hand, a half-wave of the pitiful kind. It’s like the undercurrent after a wave, the way I’m drawn to him—the way I need to go to him, thank him. I glance at Gretchen, who nods in understanding, and I go.

I see him take a deep breath as I near, but he’s bolder than I am—his eyes never leave my face. I, however, am glancing everywhere, trying to blink back tears.

I mean to stop and stand a few feet away from him, but who am I kidding? I let my arms twine around his neck and feel the familiar pull of his arms around me, hands on my waist, the warmth of his breath on my neck.

“Thank you,” I whisper, choking on my words. “Thank you for getting her here.”

He doesn’t answer, but the deep breath he takes in tells me everything—that we’re both on the verge of tears, that he doesn’t know what to do with me so close, that he’s wondering whether I’m breakable.

“Please forgive me,” I say. Now I’m crying. (Never let it be said that I’m unemotional.) “I’m so sorry, Levi, please forgive me.”

His arms tighten, almost too much and not enough. “God, Bee.”

“I need more time, I can’t just—”

He kisses me, abruptly and beautifully. His lips are the paintbrush and mine are the canvas. My words become muffled and disappear into a soft moan, my fingers drifting down to wind around his arms and…I gasp. “No.”

Using all my strength, I push him away.

“Shit.” He takes a step back, raising a hand to cover his mouth. His sigh is heavy, shuddering.

“We can’t do that.” (I want to keep doing that.)

“I know. I know, I know, I know.” He mumbles the words against his fingers. When he drops his hand back to his sides, I see his jaw tighten and his eyebrows furrow and his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. “You can’t give me hope, Bee, if you’re not going to follow through.”

“I didn’t give you—”

“You said you need more time,” he interrupted, his voice rough. “You said you’re sorry and you asked me to forgive you. That implies that every bit of hope I have is worth holding on to.”

I shudder because he’s right. And then I shudder again because, without realizing it, I have shown myself to him. I have been more honest in these last two minutes, without even trying, than I was all summer. “It can’t happen today.”

He pockets his hands, which are balled into fists. “It doesn’t have to happen today. You had to know I’d wait for you.”

“That’s why I told you not to.”

“Well, you’re not the boss of me—and it’s only been two weeks. I can wait as long as I want.”

I try not to smile at his indignant tone but fail miserably. He notices, and his eyes light up, one corner of his mouth quirking.

“Thank you,” I say. “For Gretchen, and…” I spread my hands. “And for earlier. You saved me.” You always save me.

“Have fun,” he exhorts, ignoring that last part. “She’s here for two weeks, so you have plenty of time to talk and do everything you want to do. You can heal a little.”

I nod, not sure what to say.

He blows out a long and deep breath through pursed lips. “I miss him.”

I lift my eyes to his. He’s talking about my dad, and it threatens to break me down again. Instead, I draw myself up to my full height. “He really loved you.”

“Yeah, well, I really loved him.”

This cuts a lot deeper than I expected. I whisper, “I’m sorry we didn’t have more time.”

“Me, too.” He nods at me once, with a certain finality that makes me ache, and turns toward his car parked across the street.

He doesn’t say goodbye.

He doesn’t have to.

I go back to Gretchen, and the lights, and the people who are celebrating the life my father lived.